Veni Vidi Vici
by RapturousJashinist
Summary: "I hear your stylists are going with the whole tree theme. Original, really." He murmured, grinning, grey eyes twinkling in amusement. "Shame, isn't it? I overheard your stylists rerunning the naked person in coal idea." He blinked a few times, looking slightly alarmed. "You've got me there, sweetheart. Care to help with my costume?" - 50th Hunger Games, Quarter Quell Eventual HxOC
1. Chapter 1

Rushed voices, hushed tones. Crowds of worried parents, nervous children. Some families ignore the others and start to hug each of their children; others just fill the growing silence with mindless chatter, socialising with people they have never before encountered in the years they have lived in the large District. The large forests could be seen in the distance, although today there was not the distant sound of wood being chopped, lumber being transported- or even the heaving bags of wood chippings being dragged around by young children. Located directly to the northeast of District 4, the lands were lush and a simple dam was placed right on the north-western coast of Panem, where District 7 was. Some teens entered the boundaries placed in the town square shaking visibly, others tried to brush off their nerves, although most were visibly shaking. Many of the older teenagers in the 18 section tried to hush their family members, hug and wish luck to their friends. Some had no family, some had no friends. But that was just the way it was.

"Youngest to the front!" The peacekeepers yelled over a few sobs and whispered goodbyes.

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><p>'<em>Keep going. Just keep going,' she thought, 'if I keep going I'll be home soon.' Her reasoning seemed to spur her on a little, the wood being chopped at a faster pace than before, as all those around her sluggishly carried on with the task they were appointed to day and night, for most of their lives. People around here, and presumably every district, did not have the luxury of 'retirement.'<em>

"_What are you doing here, Acacia?" A familiar voice questioned, a strong arm throwing her over a sturdy shoulder. Her small hands began to smack the solid back her head was pressed against in a childish manner, her legs swinging._

"_Fuck off, Ash!" She hissed, hating being picked up for the simple fact that she was short. She hated the way the boys would tease her for looking more like a man than a woman because of her muscles- A certain downside to taking up lumber jacking._

"_That was rude." He chuckled, tickling her legs and putting her down slowly, his hands remaining on her waist. She smiled up at him, loving the moments when she could just stop for a few minutes and stare at him because he was doing the same to her. His piercing grey eyes and jet black hair always made her feel much more girly than anyone would imagine, the stubble lining his jaw even more so. She especially loved it when he'd nuzzle his rough cheek against her pink one, the cold not even making the gesture hurt due to how much closer she wanted him._

"_It's reaping day today, or did you forget?" _

_All traces of happiness left her face, her eyes drifting to the floor as she resisted the urge to pretend like she didn't hear him and go back to living in her own little world. Even though she was 16 and hadn't been picked yet, that was no guarantee. And Ash was 18- He was almost safe. 'Almost.' A voice in the back of her head reminded her. __**Almost.**_

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><p>It was worse than usual, regardless of the fact she'd been through countless reapings, now at the ending age of 18. This year, the 50th year of the hunger games, was a quarter quell. This meant twice the enjoyment for the sadistic Capitol officials, who would revel in their chance to change the games up to make them more difficult than they already were. The last quarter quell required the districts to choose their tributes- A scary thought in a place where you'd assume nobody would stand against one person instead of the Capitol. The grandeur of the usual affair by the districts escort, Tatiana, had been more overstated than usual; with an array of colours floundering around the districts Justice Building, a usually grey monotone building with an eerie memory surrounding it of many a tribute being dragged off never to return. The only colours that would usually be seen in District 7 were green, brown and grey. Trees and buildings accounted for this district, and although the largest district of them all, the uncertainty of walking towards the reaping could not be diminished even by those with iron courage.<p>

"Welcome, all, welcome!" A shrill voice interrupted the last few children rushing to their tightly packed age boundaries. "Today, as all of you know, is a very, _very _special day!" Her lipstick cracked as she smiled as broadly as she possibly could, her pink tinged skin and outlandish pink ball gown making her look more frightening than fashionable. "The 50th annual Hunger Games, and SECOND quarter quell!" Clapping her hands delightedly, she tottered closer to the microphone, as though the fact that she hadn't gotten as response was due to the sound being bad quality.

"Anyway," She interrupted the silence, looking around the sea of nervous faces, "Let's start with the ladies, shall we?" She questioned to nobody in particular, tottering over to the glass bowl that held the names of every girl in this small little area. Her hand seemed to morph into a claw as she delved down into the bowl, rummaging around as though it was a bag of gifts before pausing, pulling out one small, delicately folded piece of paper. She cleared her throat as she made her way back over to the microphone, an entire district holding their breath.

"Acacia Tillman."

It's as if she'd expected it, but she'd be lying if she said she wasn't. Slowly manoeuvring through the parting crowd of other girls, she made her way to the stage in silence. Standing on the stage it was as if none of the faces looked familiar, as if she hadn't grown up around all of these people. Not that it mattered anyway, it wasn't a career district. There was no hope of having anyone volunteer for you. It was as if it was silent entirely up to the point the second piece of paper was being opened.

"Rowan Dagan."

A tall figure from the 16 year olds section appeared from the dispersing crowd, with startlingly blonde hair and sharp blue eyes that seemed to be filling up with tears. He blinked a few times and it was as though a mask had been put on his face, his lips moving downwards into a scowl that seemed to scare Tatiana slightly as she removed her hand quickly from his shoulder.

"Well, come on then, you two. Shake hands."


	2. Chapter 2

**Authors note- I'd just like to say that I'm aware the flashbacks and change from 3rd to 1st person is confusing but it gives me, as the writer, more freedom to involve others along with the main character, and you as the reader, less of a chance of boredom due to the same style being used throughout. Thank you for reading, and any reviews would be greatly appreciated! Any criticism is helpful, and I'd like to know if it is going anywhere good and if it is interesting enough. If not, just tell me! I'm not picky with reviews, any help is necessary in improving :) **

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><p>The train was ridiculously luxurious, with silk curtains in a spectrum of colours decorating the windows, delicately carved wooden tables and chairs, silverware that was polished to the point of reflecting as though it were a mirror. The excess of money spent on herding tributes to their deaths was almost hilarious, considering the cost it took to get them to the Capitol in this grand train, and the games themselves. Apart from it lost it's hilarity when you realised it was you being shipped off to a place you'd never imagined yourself to try and sell yourself as though you were a prized racehorse that somehow could mean anything to the Capitol.<p>

Rowan looked as though all colour had been permanently drained from his face; that or he'd stolen Tatiana's stage makeup, one of the two. The abundance of food laid out on the table probably didn't help, the array of aromas in complete contrast to the usual smell of pine and earth that was associated and imprinted into District 7, and subsequently, its inhabitants. Tatiana tottered around excitedly, proclaiming a plethora of things about the amazing quality of food, living standard and clothing that we, as tributes, would have.

"What difference does dressing an animal for slaughter make to the end result?" I ask as politely as I can muster, making sure to try and round the edge from my tone.

"Young lady!" Tatiana scolded, her expression souring entirely now the subject had been averted from the Capitol treasures that this 'state of the art' train held. "That is no way to speak to anyone," She continued, her lipstick entirely distracting my train of thought to her now stained teeth; quite a disgusting and off putting image. "Are you even listening to me? Your MENTOR will be here soon!"

Rowan turned to me, his lips quivering. For a second I thought he was crying again, but then I saw his blue eyes glimmering with laughter and I knew I wasn't the only one with a severely warped sense of humour, especially when it came to the Capitol escorts and their 'manners'. As if on cue, the carriage doors opened to reveal a man who looked to be in his late twenties, with the stereotypical brown hair and brown eyes of District 7, his jaw lined with a thin beard, his eyes lined with age that was oddly alienating for someone of his years. Blight, if I remembered correctly. He'd won his games the same way most of our few victors had; the advantage of underestimation by the careers, who had fallen many a time to a District 7 tribute that had wielded an axe their entire life. However, it was a rare thing for someone from District 7 to actually win, despite their advantage of hard labour from a young age.

"I'm Blight." He stated gruffly, as though we wouldn't know one of the few victors our District had to gloat about. Funny how his name was a tree disease, really. Our District never was as bad as the Career Districts for names, but we did tend to have the awfully plant inspired names- it had quite the stigma attached to it.

"Anything you think you may have that could be valuable to winning, now would be a good time to mention it." His eyes shifted between me and Rowan, almost unsure. I imagine he got the same replies every year anyway. Nobody in our district had time to directly train for the games, it was a luxury we didn't have.

"I'm used to lifting heavy stuff," Rowan blurted out, looking almost embarrassed, "and I'm good at climbing! I can start fires easily enough.." He drifted off, uncertain.

"That's a start," Blight replied, his eyes surveying Rowan as though he was a piece of art that needed to be updated to a modern standard. "But what is your persona going to be, kid?" He questioned, Rowan looking taken aback.

"Persona?" He said unsurely, before seeming to clock on. "Oh. I'm not sure?" He seemed so uncertain with himself that it was more of a question than a statement, and I couldn't blame him. Year after year personas were the same, the same persona for each district practically. Districts 1 and 2 always had the 'sexy' girls and the aggressive macho tough guys. With others it ranged from creepily intelligent to cute and childish. Whatever they thought they could use to their advantage best without seeming like an outright liar. Blight and Rowan seemed to step back and think about it for a while, whilst I stood there as invisible as I felt when my name had been called at the reaping.

"Humorous, loveable." Blight suggested, surveying Rowan for what must have been the tenth time; up, down, up, down. Rowan seemed to take it in for a few seconds, before his face lit up. "Yeah, yeah, I can do that." He seemed almost delighted at the prospect of being able to be humorous and loveable, probably because it was something that'd be easy for him.

"What about you, Tillman?" He questioned, scratching his beard in what was now a clear sign of uncertainty or deep thought for him, although, something told me the two were always closely correlated. Must have been something to do with being a mentor for a bunch of kids you don't know the slightest thing about, remembering when it was you in our shoes.

"I don't know. I've been told my personality isn't up to snuff already." I replied, glancing over at an unaware Tatiana, who was currently stroking the curtains as if they were prized dogs, not overstated pieces of silk.

"Well, what are your talents?" My mind went blank. I'd always been told I didn't have charming personality traits, although some were more advantageous because of that mere fact.

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><p>"<em>What are you doing?" He asked, looking at me as though I'd grown another head. It was almost laughable if it hadn't have been for my frazzled nerves.<em>

"_I'm trying to show you myself," I began, feeling my face heat up an unbearable amount as I slid out of my oversized flannel shirt, "you asked me to show you the real me. So I am." _

_His grey eyes seemed to now have white in them, as the moonlight streaked through the blurry window, illuminating his pale skin in an ethereal fashion. "If I'd known you'd undress when I said that maybe I would have tried to tidy my room up a bit," He sniggered, looking around the simple but comfortable room that was littered with picture frames and clothes, knick knacks and various trivial personal items, "I didn't know you were the type to jump in that quickly." He teased, tickling my back with his work worn hands in a delicate manner you wouldn't expect from such a large teenager._

"_You know what I'm showing you." I replied, turning so my back faced him, trying to envisage myself as being in my own room by myself to prevent myself from backing down. His fingers slowly traced over the tattoo, which was the only thing on my back that could be described as acceptably pleasant to look at, to some. The rest was littered in scars, varying from long thin lines from shoulder blade to hip, to short, deep cuts that seemed to still look new. _

"_How?" He asked, still gently tracing patterns on my back as though there was nothing there that could put him off._

"_It's not important."_

"_You're right," He replied, smiling as I turned around, "These scars aren't important. You are. And you're a survivor."_

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><p>"I'm in over my head most of the time. Some call it stupidity." I stated plainly, trying to shake the image of Ash from my head.<p>

"Some call it courage," Blight replied, seeming to be the type to turn a somewhat negative personality trait into a positive one, "and although you seem a little analytical, girls don't usually try the survivor or confident in their intelligence approach. We can work with that." He looked at Rowan who seemed to be confused as to the whereabouts of the other two tributes. I didn't even remember their names, as I was too selfishly engrossed in my own misfortunes. All I remember was that they were both twelve, which just seemed to make everything that much worse.

"The others are with Fawn." He motioned towards the other carriage where a woman stood, who must have been in her late forties. Her hair was already grey and her expression didn't seem very inviting. The other two tributes looked scared to death.

"Inala and Fir!" Tatiana hissed at Blight, as though he'd come out with a rude opinion of her ridiculous outfit. "They have _names._"

Blight looked irritated for a few seconds before turning to us, ignoring an infuriated Tatiana.

"As I said, we can work with it."

I hope we could work with it, because if we couldn't, I was positive that we wouldn't have a chance at all of gaining any attention over the other tributes this year.


End file.
